Rise of the Guardians: Allies
by TheCloverhand
Summary: Bunny nearly fell over at the image, bumping into Jack. "Another Guardian?" But just as quickly as the last figure appeared, another took its place. And then another figure. And another. "No, not a Guardian." North answered, voice quiet and slightly distracted. "An army." Another battle is coming and allies are needed. Told from the music spirit's POV.
1. Prologue

There wasn't a "feeling" this time.

A blatant warning made its way to North, the moon telling him there is trouble and to call the others.

But after that? Nothing else.

However, it was all that was needed for the Russian Guardian to step over and send out ribbons of color and light into the sky.

Moments later, he was joined by the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, and the Easter Bunny. Only one had not shown himself yet, but that was usually how these things went.

Jack Frost was still adjusting to his Guardianship.

So, when Jack came bustling into North's workshop right after Bunny asked what exactly was going on, it was no surprise.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I just- I-"

"Jack, do not worry. You are here now. And to answer your question, Bunny, as well as everyone else's I'm sure: Manny asked for you all to be here. I am not sure why, but-"

As if on cue, a moonbeam stretched from the sky, hitting the massive crystal near them.

Jack's eyebrows furrowed and he stepped forward. It was the first he'd ever seen of such an event and he was truly confused. "Uh, you guys…?"

"Shut it, Frosty." Bunny snapped, pushing past the young winter spirit. "It's important."

_Well, obviously._

Bunny and Jack had their fair share of little tiffs every now and then, but for the rabbit to be so outright in his frustration was something of a rarity. So, whatever was happening with the moonbeam and crystal had to be concerning in order for Bunny act like he was.

Still, Jack inched his way forward, staying a bit behind Bunny, as the others closed in too.

"What've we got here…" North murmured.

Suddenly a flash of blue light ensued and a figure appeared before them, a fish-like tail in place of their legs and flowy hair trailing behind them. Their face wore an expression of amusement, hands splayed out in leisure.

Bunny nearly fell over at the image, bumping into Jack. "_Another_ Guardian?"

But just as quickly as the fish-girl appeared, another figure took her place. A young man with markings all over his face and chest stared out at them, the darkness around his eyes making them pop out.

And then another figure.

And another.

By now, nearly everyone was shocked and fascinated by the barrage of spirits that appeared before them.

"No, not a Guardian." North answered, voice quiet and slightly distracted. "An army."

It had been five years since Pitch had made his last strike, and now it seemed another was not too far off.

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Author's Note: Alright, so I know I still need to finish Presenting the Burgess High School Band, but this idea won't leave me alone. I need to write it out or I am going to go nuts! Don't forget to review and other fine things like that!


	2. That First Breath

Author's Note: Alrighty, I'm uploading one more chapter as of right now and if it doesn't really take off, then I'm leaving this story alone for a little while. I'm just about to finish one of the major arcs in my other ROTG fanfiction and I need to finish it up (and perhaps start a sequel?). So, if this does good- great! If not- I'll upload another chapter at a later date, because (as previously mentioned) this plot won't leave me alone and I would love for it to work. No set schedule for updates either, as I'm already on one for my other story.

Anyhow, that's enough babbling for now. Enjoy the story and stuff like that! Hopefully it'll start to make more sense with this chapter?

* * *

It is the strangest feeling, that first breath.

It feels smooth, as if you weren't actually breathing before you were given your second chance.

That second breath, however, loses a considerable amount of it's magic.

Being revived is no business to be taken lightly. Almost immediately, you blink your tired eyes open, waking to face the moon, waking to hear your new name.

I was allowed to keep my own name as I am not a spirit spoken very often of. I am not even sure if there was a spirit to precede me and die, as that would've been the only way for me to take their place.

A world without a music spirit- now there's a thought.

When I woke, there was an eerie peace surrounding me. I felt as if I were in a fog, trapped by moonlight and grogginess. You can imagine my fright as I fought it off, prying for my name because _why wouldn't I have a name?_

Finally I remembered, trying to speak it and make it real and somehow tangible.

In a voice that I did not have before, I said quietly, "Deirdre."

_The spirit of music._

I heard the voice inside my head and even thought it was not spoken from any certain direction, I knew where it was coming from.

_You are the spirit of music. You will help others with their emotions and expression. It is your responsibility to make sure that they embrace their feelings so they will not hold them in. You have gifts and you will discover them as time goes on._

And just like that, almost as if the voice were a wind that had stopped howling suddenly, I was left alone. Even though I was aware that it was the moon that had spoken to me and now stopped, I continued to stare, nearly mesmerized by how bright and lively it was.

The man in the moon; he was watching me, smiling over me.

Memories crawled back to me as I remained on the ground, too awestruck to do anything else.

I knew what I looked like, freckles spread only across my cheeks and nose, dark green eyes, dark brown hair.. I lived in New York. I was sixteen. I had a father, a cousin, a-

Not a mother. She was gone.

I gasped at the realization, but recovered quickly, searching for why she was gone. Who was she? What did she look like? Why don't I see her in New York?

And then her face appeared in my mind, so much like my own, freckles decorating her face in the same place, green eyes, but her hair was much different than my own. A light brown, almost gold color shimmered in her hair. Then my father standing next to her, talking, showing where I'd gotten my dark brown hair and smile. To my surprise, when my mother spoke back, she had a fairly strong accent, laced with Irish descent and a gentleness that I remember only she could have.

I found my footing as I recalled my past, my life, who I was, all the surroundings blurred. They didn't matter at the moment, I would find my way later.

She had gotten terribly sick and passed away early one morning. She was buried in the south, where we had lived at the time. My father was grief-stricken, but tried his best for a month or two. But the house we lived in held too many memories, and he decided to move up north. New York was where my mother's sibling lived with his wife and son- my uncle and aunt and cousin. Things got better once we moved up there. I spent the majority of my life there, having moved when I was small. But about seven years later, when I was thirteen, tragedy struck again. My aunt and uncle had died in an automobile accident, leaving my cousin without parents. My father took him in immediately, sharing our home

Luke was only a year older than me, but was much more troublesome. He constantly snuck out and even stole a few things from people attending our school. He was always worrying my father and, because of that, I grew tired of him. I only dealt with him, not lived with him.

And the music, the music that my father had thrived off of. My mother loved music too, and could sing beautifully. I inherited her voice, but rarely sang as I was too shy to do so. Instead, I played-

I played the trumpet.

I furrowed my eyebrows now, confusion swirling in my mind. My hand went to form the holding position, but I fought against it. My father had taken me to see an orchestra perform in a theater near our small apartment. I immediately fell in love with the violin, but I found that my hands just couldn't conform to the shape of the instrument. So instead I took up the trumpet, which I was just as much in love with. I'd played it since I was ten, working my way up to a newer, more durable model of it by the time I'd gotten really good.

I remembered the day my father had asked me if I'd like to perform, try my hand at it. I excitedly agreed and my father always made sure that I wanted to do it. If I didn't, I wouldn't go. My father never pushed me.

And then, like a ton of bricks, another realization.

I had a show.

My father was going to meet me at the theater.

"Oh no." I whispered. "Oh no, no, no." I scanned the trees now, desperate for a sign or something, anything that would lead me back to my father. What was I doing out here? Was it a dream? Either way, I wanted my father. I needed him.

And so I ran. I ran and ran, something telling me to go this way and that. Maybe it was the moon telling me and giving me a helping hand. Either way, I eventually found my way back.

It was almost like crossing over to another realm, one made up of bright lights, people, _revolutionary_. I nearly flew through the massive city, something entirely new. Surely my father had to be around here somewhere. I had to let him know I was okay and not to worry. I still wanted to perform, although I had no idea where my instrument was.

It was almost as if my meeting with the moon meant absolutely nothing.

My father was out here and I had to find him.

No one could stop me.

_Nothing_ could stop me.

Then I found the apartment.

I stood outside the tall brick building, simply staring. By this point in time, I fell back into myself with ease. I was Deirdre again. This was my home.

I was about to go in when I saw the lobby door open.

My father.

To my surprise and relief, it was my father who stepped out, hat tugged over his head and coat hung on his shoulders.

"Dad?" I called, joy rushing over me. I had done it! I had found my father! "Dad!" I called out again, the first time doing no good, as my father continued on his way.

He looked up and I thought he might've seen me.

But he looked away, eyes wide with something I'd only seen once before. He looked frantic, driven by fear and distraught and hope all at once.

_What?_

I ran after him. "Dad, look at me! I'm right here!" I reached out for his shoulder, but stopped cold when he froze.

He turned his head, staring off to the left, an awestruck look on his face.

Just before he turned back again, I could've sworn he said my name.

I wouldn't let up. Was he playing some sort of game with me? I wasn't amused and he didn't seem to be either.

"Dad, this isn't- this isn't funny." He continued walking and I caught up with him soon after. "Dad. Dad! Dad-!"

I grabbed at his shoulder, going to yank him around to face me.

But my arm- my arm went right through him.

As if it were nothing.

As if _I_ were nothing.

I gasped, the strange tingling sensation wearing off from my arm. What just happened? That wasn't real, that wasn't normal.

My father had stopped again and turned back around, facing me full-on now. He looked at me again, but then trudged forward.

A spark of hope flickered in my heart and I couldn't help but smile a bit. I thought he'd finally seen me and was going to embrace me. He looked worried after all.

But instead, he passed right through me.

_Nothing. I am nothing._

My feet could no longer hold me, and I fell to my knees. I clutched my chest, a hollow feeling making a home there.

I felt like my world was spinning away from me.

As I struggled to catch my now fleeing breath, I remembered something very important and now painfully obvious.

I am Deirdre, the spirit of music. I played the trumpet for years and years. I had a cousin, a father, a late mother, a late aunt, a late uncle.

And I had died.


End file.
